


Challenge on Infinite Earths

by waitinginthepen



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!, Weiß Kreuz
Genre: 30dayauchallenge, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - School, Alternate Universe - Spies, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Challenge on Infinite Earths, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Gen, M/M, multiple AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitinginthepen/pseuds/waitinginthepen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Challenge on Infinite Earths” is a challenge where you take your favorite ship and place them in various “what if” scenarios and alternate universes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Challenge on Infinite Earths](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/17260) by horrormoans. 



> As an effort of getting over my writer's block, I decided to try this challenge. Since I was feeling nostalgic and reasoned falling back on characters I know well would make this easier, I settled on this old rpg ship. And because they're adorable. :)
> 
> I feel so rusty… so I’m going to try to not overedit too much before I find my writing voice again.

“What’s your mother like?”

 

Yuuri looks up from the textbook he should be reading, rather than replaying last night’s training match in his head over and over (and over) again. Which he hasn’t been doing. Well, not intentionally. And not for long at any rate, right? But when he glances down at the beginnings of the Herbology essay Omi’s offered to help him with the ink’s already perfectly dry.

It takes him another few seconds to remember he’s been spoken to.

“Huh?”

He’s half-expecting Omi to look at him with that exasperated eyeroll the other boy gets a lot when Yuuri’s mind is soaring 30 feet above the ground. But this time he’s just studying him with a preoccupied expression that seems to suggest he hasn’t even noticed, may even be off in a world of his own.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

 

Omi blinks and something in his face changes as he straightens up. Not the half-smile, that’s been there all along, but something about it becomes more … conscious? … guarded? It’s hard to make out behind the cheer.

“Your Mum. She’s a muggle, right?”

Omi gets these moments. Where he just gets kind of quiet and withdrawn and Yuuri still hasn’t figured out why, even if they’ve been dormmates for four years and friends almost as long. But he knows Omi’ll take to him eventually. Because Omi knows he can.

“She is. Why?”

Omi doesn’t talk about his family much, which still strikes him as odd. With a close-knit family like his, Yuuri finds himself mentioning them every other discussion: his father’s job, their camping trip to the world Cup, his Mum’s latest parcel … and of course there’s no dodging Shouri, who’s become especially overbearing lately since he’s about to take his NEWTs and seems to find him whenever he sets foot outside of the Hufflepuff common room.

But Omi’s family? Don’t seem to take much notice. Even Hiro, who seemed a lot like his own older brother, even looks like him a bit, doesn’t talk to Omi much anymore. Not that his oldest brother… what’s his name? … Something with an M… ever did. At first Yuuri thought it was about them being sorted into different houses - Omi in Hufflepuff, the rest of them in Slytherin - but the same is sort of true for him and Shouri in Ravenclaw, and Shouri manages just fine. Maybe it’s that Omi broke the family tradition? It’s hard to even guess from what Omi lets on, and there’s only so much to go on if you don’t want to generalise from the family reputation.

Because that’s not Omi. Not when Omi is -

“Yuuri?” He blinks, this time actually faced with the half-amused, half-unfairly-put-upon look Omi gets a lot when they’re together. He feels the blood rushing to his ears, when he realizes he’s probably been staring wordlessly for a while.

 

“Sorry, what did you want to know?”

 

Omi studies him for a moment and then, thankfully, just dismisses him with an eyeroll and a shake of the head “I was asking what she’s like.” He puts his quill to the parchment again, casting him a sideward glance.

“Uhhhhhh…” It’s such a broad question, so he decides to stick to the muggle thing first, because that’s what Omi asked about earlier. “Well, she gets… really enthusiastic?” He shudders a little, remembering their shopping trips to Diagon Alley. “About Magic, I mean. It gets a bit embaressing, really. She’s still really into all this fantasy stuff - you know, what muggles think magic and magical creatures are like? Unicorns … she really likes unicorns. … Uh… apart fom that…?”

Omi looks up from his essay and stares at him, for a moment his lips also part slightly.

 

“So she just… accepts it?”

Yuuri feels his eyebrow twitch. ” ‘Accepting’ doesn’t really cover it …” He gives a mortified little laugh. ” When Shouri got his letter, she was beside herself. With me it was the same all over again. She was really proud.”

Something about the way Omi closes his mouth and turns back toward his parchment seems off, even if he can’t put his finger on why. Before he can wonder about it much, Omi asks: “So she knew all along? About your dad?”

 

Yuuri blinks. “Yeah. Dad … kind of blurted it out after their first date? It was pretty much “I’m a wizard, marry me?”.”

He laughs again, running a hand through his hair, beacuse - parents, right? But Omi’s back to staring at him increduously again.

“What did she say?”

“Well … “yes”.”

It’s hard not to laugh at the look of utter bewilderment on Omi’s face - and so Yuuri does, if a little sheepishly, because yes, his family IS a bit on the stange side. Okay, more than a bit. Who in their right mind asks someone to marry them after the first date?

“Why … why did your dad do that?”

Omi asks and Yuuri runs the tip of his quill along the side of his temple in embaressment, because he’s asked the same question and the answer seems just a little too cheesy to repeat, no matter how heartfelt his father’s words were.

“Well…” He stalls, dipping the quill into the ink and tapping it against the sides of the bottle vigorously. “He says he … he just knew they were meant to be together.”

Still feeling his ears burning, he looks up to see Omi staring at him again, now less with bewilderment and rather more of his occasional quiet thoughtfulness. But when the other boy notices his gaze, it’s quickly stowed away with a blink.

“That was pretty brave of him.” Omi smiles, leafing through the textbook and Yuuri is glad of the distraction.

“So, the essay isn’t going to write itsself, is it?” He jokes weakly, changing the subject. “Unless you’ve got an Auto-Answer Quill hidden somewhere?”

Omi shakes his head, doing him the favour of letting out a chortle. “Nope, sorry.”


	2. Zombies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an apocalyptic Tokyo, Yuuri is about to be eaten alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been done earlier if I’d actually had a computer with me. Trying to read my scribbles when I write something down by hand is far too much work… at least I numbered the post-its. -_-

Yuuri’s eyes widen as the thing that was once a petite store clerk drops to the ground, hit squarely between the eyes by a plastic-feathered bolt. A few moments more and it would have been too late. Just a couple more steps and there would have been teeth tearing into his flesh and there would have been little he could have done about it. Vaulting over the fence took his last strength.

How it managed to squeeze through he isn’t sure, but in places its flesh has been shredded off, the sickly brown of decaying muscle visible beneath. And still the other ghouls are throwing themselves against the mesh, moaning and reaching and snapping their jaws hungrily.

“Quick, up here!”

Still in a daze, he turns to see a face shadowed by a baseball cap, an arm and shoulder reaching over the edge of a low-roofed garage, hand extended toward him.

“Come on, that fence’s going to give any second.”

A quick glance back shows the whole structure indeed leaning precariously under the weight of dozens of undead bodies, the metal posts screeching under the stress. 

Yuuri pushes himself to his feet slowly, far too slowly, but he’s so tired it’s a wonder his muscles cooperate at all.

“On the bins!”

The voice sounds young. Urgent and purposeful but much calmer than he probably would have been himself, Yuuri muses sluggishly as he forces himself into a slow trot and somehow manages to hoist himself up onto the lid of a large trash can. 

“Here, my hand!”

The voice insists as the hand is thrust down in front of his face. And then Yuuri understands why as a final metallic groan and clatter announces the fence giving way, followed by the thuds of bodies hitting concrete.

“Come ON!”

Yuuri reaches upward, grabbing the offered wrist and trying to pull himself up, but it’s so hard and he’s exhausted and his arm muscles just seize up on him. He gains all of two inches before landing back on the lid. But then he reaches up with the other arm, fingers digging into the sleeve and he pulls again.

The other adds his own strength and Yuuri is raised up, feet scrabbling for purchase against the garage wall. He finally feels the edge of the roof digging hard into his stomach, winding him, and he has no more air, no more strength left in him to pull himself up the rest of the way, expecting cold fingers to grab onto his leg anytime now, the moans and the shuffling feet so close…. But instead another hand grabs grabs onto his belt, dragging his legs over the rest of the way.

For a long while, he just lies there, the hungry sounds in the alley below nearly drowned out by pounding of his heart and the breath rasping in his throat, but he can only lie there, somehow alive, with the pain of bruises and burning muscles to assure him of it.

It takes him a long while to become aware of the second set of ragged breaths next to him and lets his head fall to the side, and a while later forcing his eyes open. 

Crouching next to him is another boy, one knee drawn to his chest, resting his elbow against it, waiting for Yuuri to come around. He looks the same age, 16 to 17-ish, brown hair and blue eyes and slightly shorter then Yuuri himself. Next to him on the floor is a crossbow, another bold loaded and ready to loose. 

“Are you okay?” he asks with genuine concern, studying Yuuri, then adding more urgently: “Were you bitten?”

Yuuri shakes his head, swallowing dryly. “Thanks to you.”

The other teen just shrugs dismissively. 

“I saw you from up there.” He says and points to a nearby roof, three stories up. “What were you doing out there? Alone and …” His eyes rake Yuuri’s form again. “…unarmed?”

For the first time since he stumbled upon the first group of ghouls, since his excursion went south, he has time to think and the same sense of crushing worry settles back into his stomach.

“I was looking for someone.” He props himself up on his elbows. ”A little girl. She was with our group, but we got separated in an attack. You haven’t seen her, have you? Curly brown hair, about this tall…” he gestures roughly, hoping beyond reason. “Her name’s Greta.”

The other boy’s eyes grow sad as he shakes his head and Yuuri knows what it sounds like, what everyone thinks. But they’re going to find her. He knows it. Has to believe it. Still, he bites his lip, giving a shrug.

“I lost my bat when I got surprised by a group of zombies lurking in a doorway.”

“You were on your own?”

Yuuri can’t help but smile sheepishly. Yes, in hindsight it was foolish, heading out by himself, but after the last couple of days most in his group were either too exhausted or too scared or didn’t believe it was worth the risk. But somebody had to do something - they couldn’t just leave her alone out there…

“Hey,” Yuuri says, offering the teen a smile. “Are you with a group?”

The other’s eyes narrow slightly and something about his posture grows tense as he gives a nod, even if his expression stays the same. Yuuri blinks, but continues.

“Good! You should come join us - we’re holed up in a shop not too far from Nogizaka station. We don’t have much, but it’s secure and we’ve got some food and blankets and weapons. - Well, not that you need those, but maybe we can pool our resources and help each other out.”

The other boy gives him a strange searching look that has Yuuri confused and lasts for a good long while. But finally he looks away, leaning over the side of the roof and down at the mass of undead now pressing around the garage. 

“Maybe. I’ll have to run it by my friends.” he says carefully and Yuuri nods. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t think there’s enough of them to pile up and climb over each other, but you can’t be too careful.”

Yuuri nods again and -much to his surprise- he pushes himself to his feet rather easily. His companion shoulders the crossbow, the weapon hanging in the small of his back. Together they scale the escape ladder of an adjoining building. Yuuri goes first, grateful that he gets to set the pace.

On the roof, the boy steers towards the stairwell entrance, but stops with his door on the handle. He glances at Yuuri over his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t give away your group’s position so easily, you know. It’s not just the zombies you need to be afraid of. Raiders’ll kill you for just a scrap of food or your backpack. I could have been one of them, you wouldn’t have known.”

Yuuri just blinks.

“But - you saved me back there.”

The boy cocks his head with earnest concern, turning to face him now.

“Yes, but still. It’s dangerous. You can’t trust people so easily any more. A lot of them are just out for their own survival now, preying on other groups. I could just want you to lead me to your stash of supplies.”

Now it’s Yuuri’s turn to tilt his head as he ponders those words, but then he rejects them with a shrug. 

“I don’t think you’d do that. And, honestly, this mess is bad enough without having to doubt everyone you meet. I have to believe there’s some good left in people. I mean, we’ve got to work together to survive, right? What chance do we have if we don’t?”

The other boy considers him carefully, but there’s no denying the sad little smile playing around his mouth that says _I wish it were that easy_ more plainly than words ever could.

Nevertheless he nods.

“I guess you’re right.”

Yuuri’s heart sinks in his chest, wondering if the other boy really has given up hope.

“But you’re right, too…” he hears himself say. “We _don’t_ know each other.” He holds out his hand. “Shibuya Yuuri.”

It takes a moment for the other to take his hand, as if he’s forgotten all about pleasantries or at least seems dumbfounded anyone would keep to them now. But then he suddenly beams and the intensity of it makes Yuuri’s spirits soar. 

“Tsukiyono Omi. Nice to meet you.”


	3. Medieval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mamoru wonders whether he might be getting too familiar with his charge, the emperor.

Mamoru took a deep breath of the evening air that carried with it the scent flowers from the gardens. As the last light of day faded, specks of light begun to appear around the lower gardens and on the palace walls, where the fires were being lit to prepare for the night’s watch. One hand resting on the hilts of his swords, Momoru watched fire after fire light up - a sight that filled him with a profound satisfaction since it meant that even as night fell, the castle remained vigilant to ensure the Tennou’s safety. 

Despite the fact that the outer defences didn’t fall under his command, Mamoru enjoyed seeing how efficiently the castle’s forces worked together. Not only because it made his own task as the head of the Emperor’s personal guard easier, but because it filled him with a sense of unity and cameraderie he had missed since he had been called to serve at the imperial court. He had grown to trust and admire the three other men he served with and had recently been placed in command of, but it did on occasion get a little lonely without his fellow swordsmen to talk to, with whom he had not had to worry about rank and protocol. 

While Mamoru continued his surveillance of the gardens, the emperor knealt by the Go table he and Mamoru occasionally played a game at when the Tenno found himself in the need of company, which happened with increasing frequency these days.

In the beginning, Mamoru had felt uneasy, believing it above his station to converse with the emperor so easily. Being given permission to stand in his presence, to speak and even sit had seemed more priviledges than his limited age and experience merited, but His Majesty made it easy to forget his rank - if Mamoru had permitted himself to forget.

He assumed the Emperor was in need of companionship with somebody his own age, a feeling he could sympathise with, considering the Tennou spent most of his time surrounded by advisors at least four times as old as himself. The Tennou, who still looked at everyone with such kindness and felt responsible for the people under his rule.

Lately the Tenno had even taken to asking him to call him by his given name, had tried everything short of ordering him to and Mamoru was fast running out of polite ways to deny the request.

Maoru glanced at the young Emperor, head bowed, still absently re-arranging stones on the board, not even bothering to pick them up, but pushing them across the polished wood, lost in thought. Apparently sensing his gaze, the Emperor looked up and met his eyes with a questioning half-smile.

Mamoru responded by immediately drawing himself to attention and giving a nod before returning to his surveillance of the gardens. He was only permitted a few moments of unease at his lapse of duty, before the emperor adressed him.

“Mamoru?” He paused until Mamoru turned enough to face him. “Would it be alright if I asked you a perosnal question?”

He always did ask for permission.

This was also becoming a common occorance; often something would pique the emperor’s interest about life outside of the palace and it was generally Mamoru he asked. More often than not it would be a question pertaining to his everyday life that he usually would have had no qualms answering if they had not made him wonder whether he was getting to familiar with His Majesty.

“I will answer to the best of my ability” Mamoru replied warily and the Tenno pulled a face that made him look more like a petulant child than a sovereign ordained by heaven. With great difficulty Mamoru suppressed a smile.

“Of course Tenno-Heika, what would you like to know?”

The Emperor shifted in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable now that his attention returned to the subject at hand, rather than Mamoru’s annoying adherance to protocol.

“It _is_ very personal, so it’s perfectly alright if you don’t want to answer.”

Now intriegued, Mamoru stepped away from the doorway to the gardens, an eyebrow rising in spite of himself. He gave an expectant bow, renewing his invitation to ask, which the emperor did, after a moment of hesitation. 

“Well, I was wondering. About training methods …” Again, he interrupted himself, casting a furtive glance towards the corridor behind the gliding doors as if expecting an eavesdropper. Mamoru couldn’t help but follow his gaze, even if he was certain not even one of the servants would dare lurk within earshot, especially considering the way the emperor lowered his voice.

“I was told … Is it true that swordmasters and their students …” He made an uncertain guesture and shot Mamoru what was probably meant to be a meaningful look, even if he wouldn’t have been able to tell without the context of their discussion. Even so, it took Mamoru a moment to puzzle it out. 

“Ah.”

He drew in a slow breath and nodded. He had, after all, promised to answer truthfully.

“It is true.” He replied, weighing every word with utmost care as he spoke it. “More experienced swordsmen and their students do come to share a deep … bond … and many kinds of lessons.”

The Emperor furrowed his brow, giving the impression of someone who had recieved the answer they had expected, yet still did not know what to make of it. “I see,” he said slowly and his teeth worried at his lower lip.

Again, Mamoru had to ward off an amused smile, and wondered how he could poiltely let His Majesty’s advisors know to draw attention to this telltale habit. No matter how endearing Mamoru personally thought it was, it would not do for the Tenno to display this sign of indecision in formal meetings.

“Was it strange? … With a man?”

Taken aback, Mamori blinked at the directness and realised he hadn’t expected another question at all.

This was already the most peronal talk the emperor had shared with him, and Mamoru’s senses of duty and propriety were already fighting over whether he should politely excuse himself. He highly doubted this was an appropriate topic to be discussing with his sovereign and the questions were starting to get too private no matter his opposite. That the Tenno’s inqueries were raising a jumble of images and emotions he still had trouble putting in order was of no particular help, either.

Mamoru’s gaze shifted to the ground.

“The bond I share with my … teacher is one I cherish greatly.” He willed himself look up at His Majesty again and found himself offering a smile and an uneasy shrug. “I still consider him a close friend. Closer than most.”

All the while, His Majesty seemed to have been studying him intently, but when he became aware of being watched in turn, his dark eyes instantly flicked to the side. Mamoru was surpised to see his ears even taking on a red tinge. But before he could even consider appologising for causing the emperor any embaressment, the other man cleared his throat sheepishly and rose to his feet, crossing the room to the garden doorway with deliberate, would-be casual steps and moving to stand next to Mamoru no more than an arm’s legth away.

Although his eyes remained fixed on the nightly gardens, in fact made every effort of being occupied with everything _but_ Mamoru, he could feel the emperor’s attention weigh on him more heavily with each passing moment, his presence like a wash of warmth down Mamoru’s side. Up close, the moonlight and the fires on the inner walls illuminated the profile of his face and Mamoru could make out his jaw moving uneasily and the curve of his throat as the Tennou swallowed.

Mamoru shifted uneasily, considering backing away to a more respectful distance.

“Would you…” his Majesty trailed off, his eyes briefly seeking Mamoru’s, and continuing more firmly. “Would you consider sharing that bond with me?”

Mamoru’s lips parted, lost for an answer, without even the slightest idea of how to formulate one. 

It was an honest request. That was the young Tennou’s way: honestly asking for permission when he could simply have ordered, putting forth a request that he would rather have denied than be accepted out of obligation. Many would have taken this as a sign of weakness as Mamoru’s own family did frequently, would have questioned if the Tennou even understood the concept of rulership, but Mamoru understood it to be a sign of respect, no matter who the emperor’s opposite was. It was one of the things that made him both endlessly unnerving to deal with and the kindest and most decent man Mamoru knew. The Tennou would have all the world be his friend and surprisingly many people were. They gravitated to him naturally the same way Mamoru had when he had first arrived at the imperial palace. When ensuring the young sovereigns safety had become Mamoru’s prime concern. When Mamoru had taken it upon himself to make sure the other man never regretted being kind-hearted and compassionate.

It was then Mamoru found that the Tennou occupied a great deal of his thoughts, even when he wasn’t on duty - had even followed him into is dreams a number of times. Dreams that outranked any other items on the list of breaches of protocol he kept in his mind.

Dark eyes continued glancing at him and Mamoru swallowed dryly, keenly aware of the oppressive silence until the emperor finally broke it.

“I’m truely sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It was inconsiderate to put you in that position. Please accept my appology.”

The undertone of dejection was plain for anyone to hear, despite the Tennou’s smile. No anger, no hidden accusation, just honest distress at having caused him discomfort.

And disappointment.

That more than anything made Mamoru move and tentatively place a hand on the Tennou’s shoulder in a move that immediately made it to the top of his mental list.

The Tennou blinked and Mamoru couldn’t help but wonder when anyone, apart from his personal servants, had last touched the other man. But then he smiled, a genuine smile of pure delight and Mamoru curled his fingers around the other’s shoulder more firmly. The list, he surmised, would probably be not worth keeping before long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too much research for what it is. -_- A medieval European setting didn’t make much sense to me, so I settled on Kamakura Period Japan. Since I knew next to nothing about Japanese history I had to do some reading. *sigh* Not that even a fraction of that really comes into play for the story… But hey, I really fell in love with this AU, so maybe I’ll come back to it.


	4. Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omi isn't one for snap decisions, and five times of meeting someone aren't exactly a sound basis to work with.

Omi isn’t one for snap decisions. In his line of work they can easily get you killed.

 

The first time they meet, Omi’s working undercover at a flower shop, waiting for a contact and then this young man comes to pick up a bouquet for his mother. He’s all open smiles and good-natured indignation at having been sent on this errand and they end up chatting for more than an hour before Omi subtly sends him on his way.

His contact never shows. Neither does anyone else.

 

The second time is a few days later and Omi uses a convenient flower delivery to get into Shibuya headquarters. And there in the foyer is the same young guy, this time wearing a suit and an edgy demeanor, hovering on the edge of a leather chair. They both do a double take, but the other’s face brightens when he recognizes Omi. He’s here for an _interview_ , he confides, and hell the place is kind of big and intimidating, isn’t it? Omi smiles, thrown off for a moment by the strange intonation, but admits he’s not wrong.

He deftly plucks off one of the smaller blooms and hands it to the other guy. For good luck.

 

The third time, Omi has to side-step him entirely. The other man is working late, head bowed over a stack of papers. His cubicle is the closest to the office Omi needs to get to and the only source of light in the otherwise deserted open space. Omi frowns, standing concealed behind a sizeable potted plant as he watches the other guy run a hand through his already messed up hair and sigh in frustration. He’d feel sympathetic, but right now, Omi is only concerned with how to slip past him. Which simply won’t work, no matter how he looks at it.

He’s about to settle in for a long wait, when the other groans, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes and heads off in the direction of the employee kitchen, presumably in search of coffee. Omi pulls the portable drive out of his pocket, hoping the coffee machine isn’t of the particularly quick kind.

 

The fourth time they meet, Omi spots him half-way across the crowded party floor. He’s snuck in as a waiter at a party for the Shibuya Co. higher-ups that a simple office worker should have no business attending. The young man seems to feel similarly, looking awkward in his tailored tuxedo, even as people come up to talk to him. Bewildered, Omi watches them give respectful bows, which he tries to wave off without much success. Then Omi’s serving platter is empty and he has to go refill.

 

Encounter number five happens not three minutes later as Omi is about to re-enter the party and all but bumps into the young man. He takes Omi’s explanation that he’s kind of between jobs and that he takes whatever work he can get easily enough and admits he’s come here to hide. Because being the boss’ little brother can be pretty stressful at times, even if he’s supposed to be working his way up like everyone else.

“Shibuya. Shibuya Yuuri,” he answers when Omi asks for his name.

Never has a more perfect opportunity presented itself. But the fact that such coincidences don’t just happen, ever, should be warning enough. The way he sees it, there are three options now: Either Yuuri suspects who he is, or somebody else does and orchestrated their meetings. And even if it really was all coincidence, at the very least Yuuri will remember his presence. Each and every possibility should end up with him getting out of there as fast as possible and get somebody else started on the job. The fact that he really likes Shibuya shouldn’t factor into that at all, except to maybe reinforce the conclusion.

But it does the opposite.

He bites his lip and pulls the man into an empty corridor.

“Hey, what do you know about the company’s dealings In South America?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know the next thing about the spy genre. I tried anyway.


End file.
